Death, Be Not Proud
by The Shadowy Phantom
Summary: Three one-shots from the hours of the Rosy Mazenderan. Titles of the one-shots and note in the third one-shot taken from John Donne's, "Holy Sonnet VI". Based on the Kay version.
1. Thou Art Slave To Fate Chance Kings And

_I do not own any of the characters from __Phantom of the Opera__._

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, and Desperate Men

Javed knew it was only a matter of time; the Khanum always lost interest in her toys, so why should he be so different? Eventually, he would have come to some gruesome fate; the fabled torture chamber, constructed by_ The Angel of Doom_, was as good as any. At least he would not have had to face off against the actual creator; Erik, the Khanum's great magician, would have been a fearsome adversary indeed.

Although, upon reflection, he would have liked a quick beheading far better.

After his audience with the she-devil, the guards dragged Javed to the infamous chamber. He, in a resigned state, wondered if he would see Aara and Farzana again. Perhaps not, as his two wives led good lives; they would ascend to Paradise. He would surely rot forever in _Jahannam_ for his misdeeds; his dealings with the Khanum sullied him beyond salvation.

The guards tossed Javed in and left, all the while laughing at his grave misfortune. Javed rose, and looked around the room. It was circular, and covered with tall mirrors. There seemed to be some sort of metallic tree in the room, with a noose hanging from it.

_How macabre_, Javed wondered. _It fits the Khanum to a tee._

As the temperature swiftly rose, Javed saw memories flash before his eyes.

_He heard his wives yell in unison, and wondered what was transpiring near the front door. He ran downstairs, only to find Nadir Khan, an old friend; Nadir ordered men bearing a masked man upon a litter to place him inside his house._

"_Nadir, what is this? Who is this?" Javed inquired, while his wives were fetching refreshments for the visitors._

"_I apologize for the lateness, my friend," Nadir solemnly intoned, "But I am in need for some assistance. You see, my friend there, Erik, has been poisoned. He is in a delirium, and I had hoped we could stay here for the night."_

"_Certainly, of course you can," Javed replied warmly, not without nervously glancing at the prone body of Erik. "Come, let me get you and your friend some sherbet."_

He remembered the conversation he had with Erik that same night.

_Javed made his nightly rounds across his small estate; he finally came upon the room which housed Erik, when he heard the man moan. He swiftly ran to Erik, and found that the man was staring right up at him. _

"_Who are you?" Erik croaked, apparently lucid for the moment._

"_You may call me Javed; you are in my home."_

"_Why am I here?"_

"_Nadir Khan asked me to board you and him for tonight. You are on your way to Nadir's house, remember?"_

"_Yes, yes, of course. I need to finish the palace, and I need to see to Reza …" Erik gasped, and coughed, straining to reach the nightstand._

"_Here, allow me," Javed said while handing Erik the goblet._

"_Thank you," Erik whispered, "I must ask though; aren't you frightened? How can you tolerate my presence? Why are you so damned civil?"_

"_It is my custom to serve the friend of my friend. As Nadir trusts you, so shall I," Javed answered._

_Erik stared at Javed, and broke the silence, "This will not be forgotten; I will repay you one day."_

It was getting hotter; his tongue swelled to the point where he was gasping for air. He thought he could see palm trees, and was that an oasis?

_It must be Paradise_, he thought. _My time has come._

Then, a curious shade seemed to break through the delusion of Javed; this shadow had a white mask that covered his entire face. The shade moved with cat-like grace to where Javed lay, and whispered in Farsi, "Stay calm. I will aid you."

The shadow carried Javed down some sort of hole, and Javed finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Javed heard voices, and opened his eyes to find he was home. His servants flocked around him, questioning him as to his health, before they cleaned his wounds.

Javed, at this point, was thoroughly confused, until a servant brought him a slip of paper. Upon it was written,

_It is my custom, as well, to serve the friend of my friend. As Nadir has trusted you, so shall I._


	2. Poppie or Charmes Can Make Us Sleepe As

_I do not own any of the characters from __the Phantom of the Opera__._

Poppie or Charmes Can Make Us Sleepe as Well

Darkness is what the child saw, until he heard the voice.

"Greetings Reza."

Reza knew that voice; that voice is what made him feel like any other normal boy. When the voice spoke, Reza thought he could see, despite the blindness that had stricken him. Erik, the Khanum's magician, was the man behind the voice; toys and happiness came with every visit that Erik made. Reza was feeling very sick, though; perhaps Erik could sing something to him?

"How have you been, Reza?" asked Erik calmly.

"I have not been feeling well; I was wondering if you could sing for me?" Reza asked hopefully.

"Of course, Reza, as long as you eat this," Erik stated warmly as he gave the child some sherbet.

Reza obliged, and Erik began to sing verses out of the Qu'ran; Erik could make anything sound beautiful, whether or not it was meant to be put to song. Soon, Reza felt weary; he felt as though he could sleep for centuries.

Erik seemed to realize this, as he held Reza, and began walking slowly toward the door. Suddenly, Reza felt some dampness hit his cheek. He didn't think it was raining, even though the window had been left open. No, it was something else; tears, maybe, but he wasn't crying at all. He was too tired to even cry; soon, he slipped into oblivion, with thoughts of Erik and his little automaton with the violin.


	3. Death Thou Shalt Die

_I do not own any of the characters from the __Phantom of the Opera_.

Death, Thou Shalt Die

The Khanum lounged on her pillows, listening to the idle gossip between the harem slaves. She was bored, to put it plainly; _l'ennui_ is what Erik had called boredom, and she felt it acutely. She reflected upon Erik, and how he had provided endless hours of amusement; she came to the conclusion that, while his death had been necessary, it was a shame. Now she had no plaything to toy with; it was also a shame that she had never bedded the monster. She was fascinated by Erik, and wondered many times how he would be as a lover.

The hour grew late, and soon, only two eunuchs were left with the Khanum. She considered turning in for the night, when one of the eunuchs dropped to his knees, and made a strangled noise. He soon dropped to the floor, dead. The other eunuch, scared out of his wits, clumsily armed himself with a spear; his cry echoed throughout the room when he walked near a corner in the shadows.

The Khanum sat still upon her pillows, wide-eyed. Nothing like this had ever happened before! What events were unfolding now? Her thoughts died as she saw some sort of shade move through the gloom of the shadows; she could have sworn she saw something white on the shade.

A voice then boomed out, "_Bonsoir, madame_. I have come here to insure justice."

The Khanum had considered fleeing; that was when she heard the doors shut and lock.

The voice continued, "You see, madame, you have caused me, and many others, so much misery that it is only fair that you reap what you have sown. I have come here tonight for retribution on every victim's behalf. _Au revoir_, madame; my time with you has not been pleasant, but it has given me experience that I shall employ now."

With that, the Khanum felt something heavy hit her head, and she knew no more.

The Shah was in a deep discussion with a few of his closest advisors when a messenger arrived. The messenger bowed before the Shah, and handed him a note. The Shah read it, and his face grew pale; he immediately left without a word for the torture chamber that Erik built.

Swinging from the iron tree was a corpse so badly mangled that one could not distinguish whether it had been once male or female. It seemed that, in addition to having spent a night in the torture chamber, the poor soul had been skinned as well. A note was pinned on the body:

_Death be not proud, though some have called thee_

_Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,_

_For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,_

_Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me._


End file.
